Are You A Smelly Hobo?
by trisana
Summary: Meet Luann. The only nonphangirl to timewarp. And Ari, her friend, who more than makes up for Luann's lack of obsession. Erik, meet the nice men in white coats.
1. Arrival

A/N: I was bored in Music Appreciation one day (the only good thing about that class is that there's a full page photo of Michael Crawford as Erik that we should be studying soon), so I came up with Luann. The only non-rabid phangirl to time warp. No relation to the comic. Be forewarned, I am a redneck from a town somewhere in Alabama. I have no idea if there even is a 43rd in New York, much less whether it's within walking distance of any house or if there's a pothole.

Disclaimer: It's not mine, ok! Those clueless jerks at the copyright office will be first against the wall when the revolution comes!

* * *

Falling…falling…falling… Thud. Oof. Thud. 

"Who are you, where did you come from, and what are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you."

"No, you could not."

"Why?"

"Because this is my house, on my lake, in my Opera."

"So?"

This was the first interaction between Luann Summers and the infamous Phantom of the Opera.

Many of their future conversations would go something along these lines.

Luann had—once again—had a screaming match with her mother, Ilane. As was customary, they both went on walks to cool down, in opposite directions.

That pothole on 43rd was a doozy.

"So?" Luann asked.

"If you had built this, you could demand things of me, but you did not."

"So?" Luann asked again.

Erik could already tell that this was a girl who would grate on his nerves constantly. As he stared at her, the insolent look on the 14-year-old blonde's face confirmed that.

"Are you a smelly hobo?" she asked.

"Excuse me?" inquired Erik with a raised eyebrow.

"You know, a smelly hobo. A person, usually a man—the girls are called smelly hoes—without a home who skulks somewhere, down an alley, on an abandoned railcar, or other places not fit for the inhabitation of humans."

"What do you call this around you?" Erik asked. "I have a home. And even if I were one of those…hobos…I would not be…smelly."

"This looks like the inside of a pothole to me."

Erik resolved to put the strange appearance and vocabulary out of his mind, and find the facts, then kick her out. "What is your name?"

"Luann. Luann Summers. Why do you care?"

"Have you ever heard of the Phantom of the Opera?" the Phantom of the Opera asked, trying to instill some terror in this remarkably terror-free girl.

"Yes. That movie that came out last year. A couple of my friends went to see it, and spent the weeks afterward trying to convince the entire school that Gerard Butler was hotter than Patrick Wilson (A/N: In my rough draft I accidentally put Patrick Stewart. Hehe)."

"What does the body temperature of this Gerard Butler have to do with anything?"

"The price of peas in Persopolis is six copper bits a pound."

"Excuse me?"

"Have you never read Tamora Pierce?" cried Luann in exasperation.

"Who is Tamora Pierce?" Erik felt at a distinct loss—this girl held all the cards.

"Only the _best _living fantasy author _ever_. Many say her works are only surpassed by J.R.R. Tolkien, and that's just 'cause she hasn't made up languages yet!"

"You are saying that this Tamora Pierce is an author?"

"Yes."

"Women do not write books!"

"Welcome to the twenty-first century, man! Women do everything men do and then some!"

"It is not the twenty-first century. It is 1881."

"No it's not. It's 2005."

"Mademoiselle, I am a genius. I would know the year."

Luann seemed a tad bit in doubt of this fact. "You're a smelly hobo who lives in a hollowed out pothole."

Erik was about to answer nastily when another girl—brunette this time—fell through the ceiling onto his organ—just like Luann did. The new girl sat up on his organ bench, rubbing her head. "That pothole on 43rd is a doozy," she said with a moan, feeling a large bump on her head.

"Ari!" shouted Luann.

"Oh, lovely. One of your _friends_."

Ari whirled to look at Erik. She, unlike Luann, had seen the movie and read the book and was, in fact, a full-fledged rabid phangirl. She gaped. She stared. She made incomprehensible noises. She put her head near Luann's and whispered frantically with the girl.

With a grand flourish, Luann indicated the girl still sitting on the bench. "Erik, may I present to you Armand Freyja LenoreElizabeth Smith, commonly known as Ari."

Ari glared at her friend. "You were supposed to say Ari, not Armand."

"Armand seems an odd name for a female," said Erik, more to himself than to either of the girls.

"Ya _think_?" Ari asked, using a tagline from _Stargate: SG-1_.

"Ari's mom's friend Kim draws awesome anime," explained Luann.

"One of her characters is named Armand," said Ari morosely.

"Armand is a guy, but Ari's mom was so fixated on that name when she got pregnant…"

"That she said she'd name me Armand no matter whether I was a boy or girl."

"So she's Ari."

"And we're here to stay, Erik," said Ari firmly. She looked at the satchel that had followed her through the ceiling of Erik's lair. "So where can I put my stuff?"

"You will be 'putting your stuff' nowhere, as you are leaving _right now_," said Erik coldly.

"There's no need to be so unfriendly," pouted Ari. "We're just trying to be little rays of sunshine in your dreary existence."

Erik gritted his teeth and pretended that he did not hear that remark.

"_So_, Erik," said Luann, "Where does Ari put her stuff?"

"_Nowhere._"

"The Louis-Philippe bedroom's over here, Lu. Let's go," said Ari, grabbing her satchel and exiting with Luann

"How do you know your way around my house?" Erik called after their retreating figures. He thought he saw Luann shake with laughter at something Ari whispered to her.

* * *

"So this guy really is the idol you've been obsessing over forever?" asked Luann, wanting to clarify. "He's really not a smelly hobo?" 

Ari's face had become dreamlike as she looked around the room. "He's really not a smelly hobo."

"Good."

* * *

A/N: This gives me ideas for long phics, because of it's utter lack of plot, it has a plot! 


	2. Hollaback Girl

A/N: Woot! Three reviews in twelve hours! I shall celebrate! (does mad celebratory dance)

Because of this, I must do _review responses! _And I shall also take a moment to point out that I listen to country music, and know nothing about Metallica or any other heavy metal band out there.

**Silvermasque**-Hehe… I'm really not sure _what _the price of peas in Persopolis is, but that line sure sounds nifty!

**Anna Vader**-Anna E., it may be the end of the world. I think I lost the lyrics for Lindsay's _Point of No Return_. And yes, I made up this phic to celebrate the madness of room 24. Luann and Ari are totally going to trash the Louis-Philippe room. (grins evilly) Maybe the dead man will supply them with toilet paper and brooms. (laughs demonically)

**mrs. malfoy**-Plotlessness is my specialty. I hope you continue to enjoy it.

* * *

Previously on Are You A Smelly Hobo? 

"_So this guy really is the idol you've been obsessing over forever?" asked Luann, wanting to clarify. "He's really not a smelly hobo?" _

_Ari's face had become dreamlike as she looked around the room. "He's really not a smelly hobo."_

"_Good."_

* * *

"Will he ever stop that dreadful banging?" asked Luann loudly, her hands clamped over her ears in an attempt to block out Erik's organ. 

"Shh!" said Ari, still looking dreamlike. "It's _Don Juan Triumphant_."

"I don't care! Did you bring any Metallica?"

"As a matter of fact, I did." Ari sounded like she didn't want to admit this, as she knew her friend wanted to drown out her idol's composing, but she'd rather admit it than have her bag searched.

Grinning, Luann eagerly asked, "Did you bring the subwoofer?"

"No, but you can turn the iPOD speakers up really loud."

"Better than nothing," the blonde shrugged.

* * *

Erik appeared at last to be making some real progress on his new opera—not _Don Juan Triumphant _as Ari suspected, but something different. All his copies of _Don Juan _had gone up in smoke. 

So he finally thought he was accomplishing something when a scream rent the air.

"Did _another _person fall into the torture chamber?" he wondered aloud. But that didn't explain the musical accompaniment and the fact that it seemed to be coming from the Louis-Philippe room. Erik stalked over there and threw open the door. A solid wall of sound hit him. Along with that was the picture of both of those annoyances dancing madly about, if what they were doing could be called dancing. "**_Turn that damn stuff off!_**" he thundered. Ari pushed a button on a metal contraption that was sitting on the dressing table and mercifully the sound stopped. "What the hell was that?" Erik asked, rubbing his head—nursing a rapidly coming migraine.

"Metallica," said Luann impudently. "It's _called _music. Ever heard of it? It's a lot better than whatever _you_ were doing," she continued, heedless of Ari's warning looks.

Erik glared at Luann, utterly speechless. This was hardly the first time in his life someone had insulted him, but definitely the first time someone had insulted his music. After a few minutes of him glaring, Luann making faces at him, and Ari shooting panicked looks between the two, Erik said, as if his teeth hurt, "If you are to be staying here, it would not be fitting for me to allow you to starve. Dinner is in one hour."

As soon as he left, Luann and Ari did their patented celebratory dance, which involved turning Metallica back on and resuming doing exactly what they had been doing, causing Erik to wish he'd never let them stay.

"What else is in this bag of yours?" Luann shouted over the music.

"Oh, tons of stuff. I'd had a fight with my mom," Ari shouted back. It was customary for Ari to take a walk when she'd had a fight with her mom, but as Ari was much more paranoid than Luann, she always packed a big bag of stuff, asshethought she was going to get kidnapped or something of the kind.

Luann and Ari abandoned their celebratory dance in favor of rummaging through her bag. There really _was _a ton of stuff, most which will be inventoried at a later time.

"You even brought _my_ dance bag?" Luann asked, amazed.

"Yep. You'd left it over at my house last Thursday after tap and I packed it, meaning to give it to you when I got a chance."

"Speaking of tap…" Luann said coyly.

"You don't seriously remember that dance, do you?" Ari asked. She knew what was coming.

"I remember every solitary step. Do you have your shoes?"

"Yes, I have my shoes," Ari said reluctantly.

Luann grinned. "And I _know_ you have that song on your iPOD, because I put it there myself."

Ari rolled her eyes and handed Luann her tap shoes as she fastened her own on.

"Yay!" Luann said. "I've always wanted to ruin my tap shoes on a stone floor!"

"Who said anything about a stone floor?" Ari asked. "This is an opera house. There's a stage, remember?"

Luann grinned even more broadly. "I'll take the music," she said, grabbing the device off of the dressing table and following Ari out, trusting the other girl to know the way. When they got to the banks of the lake, Luann's enthusiasm evaporated. She looked hesitantly at Ari, who had already climbed into the boat and was gesturing at her to follow. "You know how to row one of these things?" she asked.

"Yep. I've been practicing. What do you _think _I did on the big lake trip over the summer? I'm way to hyper to sunbathe!"

Luann stepped into the boat, feeling it rock quite a bit.

"Stay centered," Ari commanded. "You get my iPOD wet, you die."

"Alright…"

* * *

The two girls managed to get across the lake relatively unscathed, and Luann was still alive, so the iPOD obviously wasn't wet. They trooped up onto the stage, grateful that no one appeared to be out. Luann set down the iPOD and selected the appropriate song. Both she and Ari were struck with an attack of the giggles at what they were about to do. Luann hit 'play' and stood in her corner. 

The song "Hollaback Girl" by Gwen Stefani thudded through the theatre. Both managed to recover from their giggles to actually do the dance that they had been taught, 'dripping attitude' just right as they had been commanded. When the song finished, they both felt unbearably silly and had absolutely no idea what possessed them to do this in the first place.

Which was when the applause started.

Looking up, they discovered the source of the clapping and rude catcalls. Apparently the theatre wasn't as empty as they had thought. The stagehands were still there. Red with embarrassment, they picked up their stuff and walked off the stage. They were about to exit back to the damp cellar from whence they came when they were cornered by a shadow.

"Do _not _make such a spectacle of yourselves ever again," Erik hissed.

Now that the comments of the men had stopped, Luann and Ari found the whole thing much more amusing and dissolved into hopeless giggles again.

Erik looked on with disapproval.

It was fully fifteen minutes before they could compose themselves enough to return to the lair.

* * *

A/N: I actually have to 'drip attitude' doing a tap dance to "Hollaback Girl." Don't laugh. 


	3. Preps Are So Evil

A/N: Not only do I have reviews, I also have the two disk, wide screen, special edition of _Phantom_. I know, y'all probably all got it ages ago, but I'm poor and have to pay my cell phone bill. So, yeah. That's all good. Now I have so many songs stuck in my head, and they might even make an entrance in this chappy. You see, Ari has the soundtrack…

My favorite part! Review responses!

**Nota Lone-**Considering the title has to do with smelly hobos, that will come back in. XP I really don't have an iPod. I'm just pretending that I understand how they work. XD

**mrs. malfoy**-You'll never hear me admit it, but I like "Hollaback Girl" too. ;-)

**Erik'sDarkRose**-I think Ari just walked away _because_ she didn't want to get Punjabbed. But that's what I'd do too. Kiss him and run like hell.

**Ari**-Wow. What a coincidence! That's an Improbability factor of two to the power of 9826574 to one against.

**Erik for President**-(grins with more than a slight touch of insanity)

* * *

Previously on Are You A Smelly Hobo? 

_Looking up, they discovered the source of the clapping and rude catcalls. Apparently the theatre wasn't as empty as they had thought. The stagehands were still there. Red with embarrassment, they picked up their stuff and walked off the stage. They were about to exit back to the damp cellar from whence they came when they were cornered by a shadow._

"_Do not make such a spectacle of yourselves ever again," Erik hissed._

_Now that the comments of the men had stopped, Luann and Ari found the whole thing much more amusing and dissolved into hopeless giggles again._

_Erik looked on with disapproval._

_It was fully fifteen minutes before they could compose themselves enough to return to the lair._

* * *

"I hope you are pleased with yourselves," Erik said over dinner. 

"Yes," said Luann brightly. Ari's mind appeared to be elsewhere.

"That was a rhetorical question."

"Ari, this idol of yours really isn't all that great," Luann complained.

Ari looked scandalized. "How can you say that?" she asked.

Erik was glaring at Luann again.

"So why do you think he's hot or whatever? Patrick Wilson is so much better!" Luann knew that this remark would incense her friend. She wasn't disappointed. Ari stood up, knocked her chair over, and tripped over it, muttering about betrayal as she tried to untangle herself from her chair and stand back up. Luann stood up too, looked at her friend, and yelled, "_Smelly hobo!_"

"What is the meaning of this?" Erik asked. "I thought we had already established that there were no…smelly hobos…on the premises."

"Inside joke," said Luann exasperatedly, while helping Ari to her feet.

"What in the name of hell is going on?" yelled a voice from the front room.

"Not another one," Erik groaned, rubbing his still aching head.

Luann and Ari had already gone off to investigate.

* * *

The girl with curly read hair that was sitting on the bench was heavily made up, was wearing cothes at least two sizes too small, four-inch heels, and was clutching a fake Louis-Vuitton bag, that was, for all intents and purposes, completely authentic. She looked like she had spent three hours getting her hair looking like she'd just rolled out of bed. She was looking down at her fingernails, anxious that the polish might have gotten chipped. In short, she was the physical incarnation of one of the 'in' crowd. 

Luann and Ari were expecting one of their friends so they could obsess over how awesomely awesome it was to be anywhere within a five mile radius of Erik—in Ari's case—or how terribly terrible it was to be separated from nearly all electronics—in Luann's case. They were certainly not expecting _her_.

"What are _you_ doing here?" the new arrival asked scornfully.

"We live here," said Ari, with equal dislike.

"At least, they are staying here for the time being." Erik had sidled up behind Luann and Ari and was staring at the new girl, too. "And you might want to cover yourself up a bit, should you wish to do the same."

"Why would I want to stay anywhere the same as _them_?" she asked, gesturing at Luann and Ari. "They might contaminate me."

"Oh, really?" Luann challenged.

"If you find us so repugnant," Ari said, "I hear Carlotta is taking on a new apprentice."

"Carlotta?" the girl asked, clearly grasping at straws.

"She's the local voice teacher. She does an excellent impression of a toad. And Raoul's opening a beauty school, if that's what you want."

Even Erik had to smile at that one. "So who is this girl, anyway?" he asked Ari.

"Brittany. She's the Devil's spawn," she said, sounding disgusted (A/N: If your name's Brittany, I'm sorry, but I really felt like tormenting a prep today).

"I wouldn't be talking, freak," Brittany countered.

"Oh, just crawl back into whatever portal to hell you came from," Luann said.

Just then, a sparkler fell through the ceiling, very nearly setting Brittany's hair on fire.

"Jason," said Luann and Ari in unison. Normally they would roll their eyes after mentioning the neighborhood prankster, but right then they were too happy with him causing Brittany to nearly have a nervous breakdown.

"What should we do with her?" Luann asked.

Ari whispered something in her ear.

"Nah," Luann said, "That's too mean even for _her_."

"I guess we'll have to keep her," Ari said, sounding disappointed.

"So where do we put her?" Luann asked, gesturing at the prone redhead on the floor.

Ari whispered to Luann, "Well, you and her could sleep in the Louis-Philippe room."

"Not unless you brought a brick wall in that bag of yours," Luann whispered back. "And what about you?"

Ari didn't have to answer; she just glanced sidelong at Erik.

Luann grinned. "We'll have to see what he thinks about it," she said aloud.

"We'll have to see what I think about _what_?" Erik asked menacingly.

"Well," said Luann, "Since we've decided to keep our friend here, she needs a place to sleep. She and I will have the Louis-Philippe room, we've decided, which leaves Ari…but there's one other bedroom…"

"Absolutely not."

"Aww, but otherwise I'll have to sleep on a cold, hard floor," Ari said, making puppy eyes at Erik.

"Even if I was good enough terms with you to even consider that, there is the simple fact that the coffin is not big enough for two."

"Have you ever _tried_?" Ari asked coyly.

INSERT LINE HERE

A/N: Ooh… Moment of suspense. OK, it's not, but it's the closest thing to a moment of suspense we're gonna get.


	4. Mon nom est Stephanie

A/N: All right, guys, new poll. Should Erik allow Ari to sleep anywhere near his presence? This chappy will be a random interlude to let you tell me. I know, I'm committing the cardinal sin, having every character age except for Erik, but I have to. It's important to the random interlude. And I'm going to beg y'all shamelessly to visit my homepage.

All right, I have to elaborate about how Ari got to be named Ari. My friend Kim really does draw awesome anime (I'm not slighting you, Anya, Demetria, y'all are great too!), and her current project is Hell's Lullaby, where you've got reincarnated Jack the Ripper and a bunch of Lords of Hell running around. Armand and his twin sister are the ones I find the coolest, so I had to name a character after them. I was going to incorporate Jack the Ripper too, but _someone_ already stole that plot arc (mock glares at Silvermasque). I mentioned that Armand has a twin sister. "Why couldn't you just name her after Armand's twin sister?" you ask. Well, Armand's twin sister's name is Lotte. And I wouldn't ever curse even a mild phan with that name.

Just so you know, I'm basing most of the characters' histories on Leroux, with some from Kay, and just a bit of description here and there from the movie. And I apologize, but I'm not making fun of Raoul much, but he will be humiliated when he first comes into contact with the girls, as well as some physical pain.

* * *

Review responses! 

**mrs. malfoy**-yes, a coffin for two, although it might get a little uncomfortable in there after a while. XP

**Reltastic**-whoa…I've already had reports of another rabid phan named Ari who's read this phic. What a coincidence. At least I haven't met any Raoul fans named Ari, or they'd want to kill me for making someone with the same name as them Erik phans.

**Maidenhair**-surely you know me well enough by now to figure out that odd describes me pretty well. There was another saint, Thomas Beckett, I think, whose remains someone dug up and shot out of a cannon, saying, "Beckett is the only saint to be canonized twice."

**Nota Lone**-I never thought about how long a jiffy was. I just thought it was something like 'the other day,' that doesn't really mean anything. But if the Popsicle says it, it must be true!

* * *

"It's none of your business where I go, mother!" Stephanie yelled. 

"Oh yes it is, as long as you live under my roof, _mademoiselle!_" Christine yelled back.

Stephanie screamed, "Do you think I'm some kind of _streetwalker _or something? That I go out at night and _sell myself?_"

"You have no idea how dangerous the streets of Paris are at night!" replied Christine, top volume.

"And you do? _You_, who spent your life either being doted on by grandfather or Grandma Valerius or holed up in that opera house? What do you know about danger?"

"Don't talk back to your mother," Raoul said exhaustedly from behind his newspaper.

"And what do _you_ know about anything, father? You spent _your_ life being doted on by Uncle Philippe!" Stephanie snapped back.

"I know more than you ever will. About danger in particular," said Raoul sharply. "Now go to your room and don't let me see your face until you learn some respect for your elders."

"Fine. I was about to leave anyway," Stephanie said breezily as she exited.

* * *

After Stephanie had gone, and both Raoul and Christine were completely sure that she wasn't eavesdropping—a skill in which she had grown quite proficient—Christine perched next to Raoul on the arm of his chair, and the two decided it was time for a serious talk. 

"What are we going to do?" Christine asked. "I tried to raise her as best I could, I just don't know where I went wrong," she laid her head in her hands.

"It's nothing you did," said Raoul, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We just didn't expect her to be so…" he searched for the right word, "…independent. We wanted her to be more reserved, more like we were as children."

This inspired a wet chuckle from Christine. "You? Reserved? Weren't you the one who ruined your expensive suit jumping into the ocean to fetch my scarf, as well as ignoring the protests of your aunt?"

Raoul shrugged. "More like _you _were as a child, then."

"Are you positive she's not eavesdropping?"

"Yes, dear, I'm sure."

Christine still seemed troubled. "Maybe we should tell her. About _you know,_" she said suddenly. "She's bound to find out anyway. I'd rather she heard it from us than from _L'Epoque._"

* * *

In her room, Vicomtess Stephanie de Changy was furious. She tried various activities to calm herself down. She had a good shout at her maid for tying her corset strings crookedly. She savagely brushed her wavydark brown hair. She threw her silver-backed brush at her mirror, shattering it. She picked up the pieces and of glass and attempted to make a mosaic out of them. She finally grew frustrated with _that_ pursuit and decided that she was going out. She ordered her maid to give her some time alone. When the girl refused, Stephanie had another opportunity to shout at her. Terrified, the maid scuttled out. Stephanie grinned. 

Grabbing a cloak from her wardrobe, Stephanie threw open the doors leading to her balcony and walked out. From there it was short work to climb down a trellis on which dark red climbing roses grew to the ground. All of the groundskeepers had retired for the night, so the young Vicomtess didn't have to worry about being caught on _that_ front. Once she was free of the Changy household, she put on her cloak and put up her hood. She didn't want anyone recognizing her tonight, and she had enough friends in the city that that was quite possible.

* * *

"Monsieur, Madame, Mademoiselle's gone!" Stephanie's maids frantic cry shattered the calm that had developed between Christine and Raoul. 

"What?" they asked simultaneously.

"It's true, sir, lady, she yelled at me t'leave till I was too afeared t'say no, and when I checked on her a few minutes later, there weren't no sign of her!"

"I do not believe this," said Christine crossly. "I suppose we shall have to go look for her."

"Tell the stable master to ready our carriage," Raoul commanded the maid.

"I should've known something like this would happen," Christine moaned.

* * *

Despite all the commotion in the Changy house, five stories below the ground, and a fair distance away, Ari was happily humming "Prima Donna" off key, simply to annoy both Erik and Brittany—who had regained consciousness—at the same time.

* * *

A/N: I know it's short, and rather not funny, so I suppose I shall have to change the categories, as I shall be using the Stephanie plot arc more in the future. 


End file.
